


a soft and spinning place

by bokutoma



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Background Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, POV Jonathan Sims, Past Georgie Barker/Jonathan Sims, Pre-Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims - Freeform, References to Depression, References to OCD, could be read as stranger!jon, i am projecting heavily just as god and jonny intended, technically no powers but, vague mag 165 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: for a moment, jon can stand still. for a moment, the world can move without him.or, georgie has very good surprises
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 128





	a soft and spinning place

**Author's Note:**

> i have brain worms and i am not sorry
> 
> let me know if u would want to see more of this... i am in Hell

It's been so long since Jon had someone other than Georgie that he no longer knows how to accurately judge the intentions of others.

Not that that's a particularly _nice_ thought to be having at two on a Sunday afternoon, but he can't help what his godforsaken mind demands of him. Not in life, not in work, and certainly not in fashion.

"Jon, you know I love you," Georgie starts, and that's already a bad sign. She never says she loves him unless she thinks something is wrong. "But what the _fuck_ are you wearing?"

This is actually a pretty easy question: an old Stone Sour shirt that's been faded more by wear than by wash, a pair of Georgie's athletic shorts he'd co-opted from her closet before what she referred to as "the divorce", neon fuzzy socks that came halfway up his shin, and the same pair of Converse he'd been wearing for months straight.

"Clothes," he says instead, and when she pinches him, he has enough wherewithal to admit he deserves it.

"Did you even try to match?"

He looks at her with a stare so blank he might as well have not had anything in his head at all. "Matching is for people who are medicated."

" _Christ._ " Still, she's laughing, which is a sight better than what they'd been like during the tail end of their relationship. Funny how it's not long past then, but they're already getting along far better than they had in their last three months. "Maybe I'll tell you about your surprise later, then."

"Well, that's just spiteful." Still, he's not complaining; the air is brisk against his bare legs, and even if he does look a bit more like a knobbly walking stick than a person, he feels like one for once.

"Learned from the best."

A small fairground has been set up not too far from university grounds; it's here that they're aiming for, a break from the misery Jon's studies have drowned him in.

God forbid that he has a day without some nightmare or another planting itself directly in his path, of course. Children are a given at any fair, he knows, but he doesn't have to like them. One slams into him at a dead sprint and scurries off without a backward glance, and his side tingles so badly that he just _knows_ he'll shake apart if he doesn't rub the feeling away, or at least make it _even._

Instead of asking Georgie to elbow him in the other side, though, he tells her stories. Professors she knows, students she hates, friends he might be making... anything is fair game when it comes to that classic Barker curiosity.

He tells her about Jane, who left an ant farm on his desk for his birthday (by coincidence or not, he could never tell), one he had to lug to the nearest professor who taught anything to do with organic matter in even the slightest. He tells her that the marine ichthyology and mechanical engineering professor (and isn't that a hell of a combination), the one no one really seems to see much of, might have an office romance with _Jon's_ professor, who had looked especially smug while Jon had helped him grade papers for underclassmen. He tells her how Nikola gave him lotion and told him he looked positively hideous, but that the scent had been pleasant - not too floral, not named anything like _Bear Claw_ \- and that it miraculously hadn't made him itch, either.

"Is that friendship?" he asks her.

"For you?" The look she gives him for that question is halfway between pitying and pleased. "Probably."

"But not for you?"

"Definitely not for me."

And surprisingly, that does make it better. His side still sings for him to make it even, to press into the space just below his floating rib, but it's easier to ignore now. It's possible that Georgie is a miracle worker, or, more likely, that he gets far too involved in any story that he tells.

There is no line for the merry-go-round.

"What are you looking at?" Georgie asks, trying to follow his line of sight and missing the point entirely.

"Is there an age limit on any of the rides?" He's craning his neck now, trying to spot any sort of sign that might quash this odd dream that has blossomed ( _Rhododendron ponticum_ , he thinks) in his chest. There is nothing.

"Are you serious?" He suppresses a flinch, but Georgie looks too delighted by half to actually be scolding him. "Even if there is, it's not like there's anyone on it. Just let me do the talking and I can get us on."

He doesn't say that he almost always lets her do the talking regardless of the situation. That would be counterproductive, probably, and honestly, it's not like she doesn't have a very good point. His mouth gets him in trouble more often than not.

Georgie does that _thing_ , the one he's tried to pick apart and subsume for years, where she never loses her smile but doesn't stop pushing, either, and they manage to make it on to select their steed. Jon takes more time than he should, probably, but there's a hippo, for god's sake; it's not like he's going to ride it, but neither can he ignore the need to puzzle through how it fits in next to a Clydesdale and a unicorn. Eventually, though, he settles on a pleasantly speckled Appaloosa with Georgie's help, and they're off.

They're _off._

When was the last time he had ever felt so free? It's not even like they're moving quickly, but something about the bobbing motion, the gentle swirl as everything blurs into soft color, soothes the rabbit pace of his pulse.

He thinks he might be smiling.

Georgie does everything short of bribing the attendant to let them go again and again, and by the time he is well and truly dizzy, Jon has never felt better, never felt more free.

* * *

"I don't see why we couldn't have just stayed on the merry-go-round until they took apart the whole fair," Jon mutters as Georgie leads them through the twisting mass of a burgeoning crowd. It's far more nauseating to feel the press of skin and the uncomfortable sharpness of clarity than it had been to forget for a moment what reality was composed of.

"Interested in becoming a spectacle, are we?" There is the downward push of one eyebrow and the lift of the other, the upward curl of her mouth. Georgie is making fun of him. Jon doesn't mind. "You'd miss your surprise if we didn't go now."

She says it like she's waiting for him to be ungrateful - which is a fair assumption, given how badly irascibility begs to drip off his tongue - but he just follows, even as she leads him into an American-style diner. Already he can feel the squish of too thick meat against his tongue, but that's not why they're here, he thinks. (And even if it is, he's sure they sell chili cheese fries, which are fairly tasty for a crime against mankind.)

Instead, there are four people already crammed into a booth, and one look at Georgie confirms that this is, in fact, his surprise.

"Is this why you wanted me to match?" he asks.

She just stares at him impassively, which is understandable.

"If you think I'm getting in there, where I have to touch people I don't know, you are out of your mind, Georgina," he tries.

"Corner or aisle, Jonathan. Take your pick."

He gives in, just as he's sure she knew he would.

There are four people, but Jon actually does recognize one now that he's accepted the situation. Melanie, Georgie's... someone, who he shares a mutual hatred with only because they're too similar to function near each other when either is having a bad day. Other than that, she's actually quite funny and is sharp as a knife to boot, and Jon would say he enjoys being around her if that wouldn't interfere with their unspoken pact to not say nice things to one another unless needed (or to gang up on Georgie).

The other three, however, are totally strangers to him. The one next to Melanie looks vaguely familiar, as smart, polished, and competent as the facade he tries to put up when on campus. He does not know her name, but this isn't a slight; her work is excellent if he's thinking of the right person, and to him, this matters far more. Opposite her, sitting closest to the opening on the other side, is someone who looks like the type Jon might want to physically tear apart save for his knee socks, which are striped with the colors of the bisexual flag and clash horribly with whatever gym rat look is happening everywhere else.

The last one, however, is an entirely different breed. While the other two (and even Melanie) exude confidence, this one seems to waver between comfort and distress at the flip of a switch. He's wearing a button-down that screams _trendy, but pretending not to be_ , except Jon thinks he might actually not be doing it on purpose. He seems too small for himself, somehow, like the space he takes up is not him, really. He looks eminently targetable; Jon relates.

"Surprise!" Georgie says, and Melanie does jazz hands that round all the levels of sarcasm back to genuine again.

"Thank you?"

The offensively handsome one grins. "Tim, Sasha, and Martin," he says, pointing to each of the unfamiliar faces in turn. "Georgie thought you could use a break, and we've all heard an awful lot about you from her and Melanie."

"Oh, wonderful." Tim grins wider, as though Jon's words hadn't been unmistakably dry at the thought of what they might have said about him. "Now would you mind moving? I'm afraid I would feel more comfortable in the corner."

He pretends he doesn't notice the poorly disguised astonishment on Georgie's face at his seating choice; no matter how they bicker, he and Melanie are still technically _friends_ , and friends have always made him more comfortable than strangers.

The last one he had cataloged, though, Martin, he feels comfortable. Jon, whose most distinguishing trait is how unbelievably standoffish he is, decides that he likes him, all vaguely rumpled warmth.

Tim and Martin both acquiesce without a fuss while Sasha and Melanie rearrange themselves for Georgie, and it's not long before food comes.

"I didn't order," Jon protests when the server sets down a plate of chili cheese fries, but Melanie sticks her tongue out and nabs one, and he understands.

Tim is telling a story that he can't catch half of, all names and places he doesn't know, but he tries to pretend at understanding. He likes these strangers, even if they make his head hurt a bit.

Martin seems not to understand much more than him, and when Jon catches his eyes glazing over, he flushes red as... as... what's red?

"What's a good item to utilize as a metaphor for redness?" he asks Martin, whose color only seems to deepen, for some unfathomable reason.

"Why ask me?" His voice goes squeaky, and Jon can't tell whether he's put off or endeared by this; they feel so similar, sometimes.

Jon shrugs. "You look like you have the answer. You probably write, don't you?"

Really, the shade Martin is turning is borderline alarming. "Strawberry."

Red as a strawberry... Trite, but that fits, and Jon nods, unsure what else there is to say.

"I like your socks," Martin says instead of letting the conversation die, and it actually seems like he means it.

It's a little like the merry-go-round, he thinks, talking to Martin. Even the vibrant colors of Tim's shirt and Melanie's hair soften, and for just the space of quietly exchanged sentences, all is well.

 _Good surprise?_ Georgie mouths.

Jon nods. It is.


End file.
